


Colours in Skin

by ashkatom



Series: 100 Post Ficathon [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've always been fascinated by fashion and what it says about what's important to a troll. Redglare has taken that one step further, and her tattoos are mesmerising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colours in Skin

Ever since Redglare started sharing your respiteblock, your living space has gotten a lot more colourful. She starts stealing pieces of cloth from your sewing room and draping them over everything, shoving the rest into a pile in the corner. More than once you’ve woken up to find her curled up under a jade-green shawl that you were planning to wear. You never have the heart to reclaim your clothes.

Even more intangible is the feel of her presence in your block. The slime in your recuperacoon feels like her, still warm if she was sleeping in it recently. You can smell your perfume in the air sometimes – Redglare doesn’t wear it, but you suspect sometimes she just sprays it in the air to smell it. Or taste it. Then again, sometimes you paint your nails teal. You like the colour on you.

Long story short, you are being incredibly silly over a legislacerator, and she is being equally silly over you. It’s wonderful.

\--

She nuzzles insistently into your neck as you draft out a pattern for a new coat for Mindfang. You sigh and tilt your head up, letting your matesprit take your attention. “What is it?”

“You smell nice!” Redglare says, and tugs out your chair until she can sit in your lap. That accomplished, she goes back to burying her face in your neck, her right horn almost skewering you. There is a lot to be praised about Redglare. Forethought is not one of these things.

“I smell the same as ever,” you say, and continue drafting around your legislacerator. She’s learned to not take it as an insult when you have an idea between your teeth, and replacing Mindfang’s tattered remains of a coat would be a public service at this point.

“Not really. You taste different.”

You pause and look at her, confused. “I haven’t changed anythi-”

Redglare runs her tongue up your neck and smiles triumphantly.

“Oh,” you say, and lay down your pencil. Some things are more intriguing than trying to ensure a shoulder will fit properly. “And just what has changed, then?”

Redglare makes her thinking face and runs a tongue over her bottom lip. “Well, normally you taste like mint and cloth and schedules-”

“Schedules?”

“- _schedules_ , but right now you taste like day-blooming flowers and hidden things.”

You rub the tip of your nub against hers. “And for the non-synaesthetes in the room?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Rosa! Are you hiding someone under the table?”

You wrap your arms around her before she can leave you to investigate. “An army.”

She laughs. “Well, for you and your army, it means you’re tired...” She slides her arms down your back, slowly, bringing her hands to rest at the small, pushing you forward into her. “And you’re hiding things.”

You take a deep breath, keeping yourself even. “It must be my army.” Before she can mock you soundly for such a poor comeback, you reach up and press a thumb to her collarbone. “And I raise an objection. I’m not the only one hiding things.” When Redglare frowns at you, confused, you tug down the collar of her shirt and trace your thumb along the line of a tattoo that you’ve caught glimpses of. “I didn’t think legislacerators were allowed tattoos.”

Redglare laughs. “Objection! You’re just trying to get my shirt off.”

“Really, there are many easier ways to do that, I’m sure.” You kiss her lightly. “Perhaps I’m just a lover of the arts.”

Redglare waggles her eyebrows. “I suppose I should show you my tattoos then, before you commit an act of public indecency with a painting.” Before you can protest that you wouldn’t do that out of respect for the painting, she slides off your lap and out of your hands.

“None visible, was the rule,” Redglare says, her back to you as she unbuttons her vest and slides it off her shoulders. You take it and fold it as she pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but her underwear, gloves, and a skirt.

And her tattoos. If anything could distract you from a half-naked Redglare, this is it.

“Oh,” you say, struck dumb by the ink covering Redglare’s back, twisting around her sides and disappearing under the waistband of her skirt. You never suspected that all of this was hidden under the clothes you made for her.

A teal dragon takes up most of her back, its scales rounded at the top and flat at the base. They remind you of her symbol, you realise, and brush a hand lightly over her spine.

“That’s Pyralspite,” Redglare says, watching you over one shoulder. “My lusus.”

Another dragon reclines across her shoulders and curls around her neck. You don’t need to ask what this one represents, with its seven-pupilled eye, although the placement is rather ironic. You doubt Redglare was expecting to be hanged by Mindfang, but she does get eerily accurate foresight sometimes.  One shoulderblade is an unbalanced set of scales, on the other an unsheathed sword. Linking them is Sufferer’s symbol. You place a hand against it, picked out in a dull grey that would blend into Redglare’s skin if not for the bright red outlining.

“Not the wisest choice,” you comment, distantly.

Redglare shrugs. “Sometimes you have to do something unwise to still be yourself. His ideals guided me, Rosa.”

Red dragon scales spiral down her arms, stopping a few inches above her gloves. When she shrugs, they move with her, and you’re entranced by it.

“It’s unfinished,” she says, hesitantly. You realise the only thing you’ve said could be taken as criticism and open your mouth, but she talks over the top of you. “I was going to get scales down my legs, and handcuffs here-” she points “-and something over my ribs when I was promoted from Neophyte, but…”

“They’re amazing,” you say firmly, and follow the curve of Pyralspite with your fingers. Redglare gasps and digs her fingers into your sewing table, scrunching up the draft of Mindfang’s coat. You press your hands into her lower back and slide them up, and her gasp turns into a relaxed moan.

Have you locked the door? You hope so, because you doubt you can convince yourself to leave Redglare come hell or high water now.

She sits down in your lap, further reducing your willingness to get up and check the door, then makes an annoyed noise and puts your hands back on her shoulders. You take the hint and start your impromptu massage again, skating the lines of Mindfang’s dragon.

“Is Mindfang the only one who deserved a tattoo?” you ask. You assumed the rest of the symbols on her back were legislacerator-related, but it seems odd that the rest of her quadrants aren’t represented.

“Mmm.” Redglare rolls her head. “There were others, but none so serendipitous.” She reaches back and runs her hands through your hair. “I’d get a tattoo for you if I could, Rosa.”

You pause. “You would?”

“Not if you keep stopping!” Redglare takes one of your hands and rests it on her ribs, just under her breast. You can feel her heart, and she’s not as calm as her expression suggests. “Right here,” she says. “Roses in the most delicious green I could find.”

“Roses don’t come in green,” you say, and slide the nail of your thumb under her breastband. “Except the thorns.”

“One Rosa does, thorns and all!” She wriggles a bit, trying to reach behind her to the clasp of her breastband, but her back is too close to your chest and she can’t reach. You lean in even closer and kiss her shoulder, setting the pace and denying her wishes. “ _Rosa_ , come on.”

You sneak your other hand around and then rest it on her thigh, your fingers kneading lightly at the inside. “I think I’d prefer here.”

“Ah! That’s tacky of you, should I put a claimed sticker over my bone shield?”

You drag your hand up, pushing into the cloth of her skirt as you pass over her nook and bone shield. “Here?” you ask, innocently. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Rosa, you are obstructing the law,” Redglare whines, trying to press into your hand and escape your grip at the same time. 

“The law hasn’t made any demands,” you tell her, before licking at the curve of her ear. 

“The law demands balance and being able to reciprocate!” Redglare squirms again, which is starting to get quite distracting. “I have the right to defend myself in unarmed combat!”

“Is that what it’s called these days?” You run your hands over Redglare’s bare stomach, feeling the lean muscle underneath. Unlike her hands, the skin here is smooth, and you run your hands over her skin again to luxuriate in the feel of her.

“Rosa,” Redglare whines, drawing out the A in your name to Mindfang proportions. She presses against you and places her hands over yours, still gloved. “This isn’t fai-”

You let her go and gently push at the small of her back until she stands up. Despite her protests, she seems disappointed by your sudden lack of contact, until you pick her up and sit her on the table. Her hands go to your arms, half in surprise. Your strifing with Mindfang has left you stronger than you look.

“How forceful and decisive of you, Rosa!” Redglare tilts her head up and looks out at you from under lowered eyelids and thick eyelashes. “I may-”

You move in and kiss her, resting your hands on her hips and letting her do as she will. She attempts to sneakily remove your shawl and armour, using her tongue as a distraction. It’s effective enough, you decide, as she runs one hand down the back of your dress looking for fastenings.

Redglare pulls away. “Where’s the-”

You kiss her again, this time tuning your breathing to hers and taking her in, your legislacerator who pities you and perhaps even loves you, as foreign a concept as that is. This time when Redglare pulls away, she kisses the tip of your nub. “Are you ever going to let me finish a sent-”

“Never,” you say solemnly, and peel off one of her gloves. You continue speaking as you take off the other. “It is my sole purpose to make you speechless, Neophyte Redglare.” You kiss her again as you drag your hands down the hem of her skirt, unsnapping the buttons there deftly. She moans into your mouth and arches her hips to let you slide the skirt down her legs, and squeaks in surprise when you begin kissing down her neck.

“Wait, Rosa-” Her hands finally find the hidden hooks that hold your dress closed, and she smirks in triumph. She unhooks them with alarming ability, and her hands finally make contact with your skin.

They stop when they meet scar tissue.

Redglare frowns. “I thought you were hiding something.”

You sigh and shrug off your dress, letting her see the scar that bisects you. “I wasn’t hiding it, exactly-”

She holds up a hand to shoosh you, then scoots over the table until she lands in the pile of fabric scraps on the other side. You follow the law, taking the more sensible path around the table, only to lose any decorum points you gained when Redglare pulls you down to join her.

She rolls you over until she’s on top, and you run your hands over her shoulders and waist, where her tattoos wrap around. She kisses you this time, and begins a determined path downward, kissing the scar that circles your waist. Nobody except you has seen it before this, and it’s something that you try to forget. Redglare seems to like it though, although it may just be because she’s in a position to curl her fingers around your underwear and provide teasing pressure with her tongue.

The door flies open. You and Redglare freeze and stare as Mindfang strides in. 

“Dolorosa, is it ready yet, I just tore an arm off-” Mindfang stops when she sees you and Redglare entwined on your fabric pile. “Oh. Beg pardon.”

“Out,” you snap.

“You’re not going to use any of that material for my coat, are you?”

“Out!” you repeat, pointing for good measure.

“Ruuuuuuuude!” Mindfang spins on her heel and stomps out. A moment later they return, the door closes with a smug click, and her footsteps fade away again.

Redglare rests her head on your stomach. “I think the mood has been ruined.”

You sigh and run a hand through her hair. “Motion to never speak of this again?”

Redglare snuggles into you, all bones and angles. You adjust and curl around her, cradling her head on your arm. She blinks up at you, kisses your shoulder lightly, and sighs. “Motion carried.”


End file.
